The Vanished
by Cabbitshivers
Summary: A midnight visitor to the dojo, an unnerved Battousai, and the rumour of demons... Things that shouldn't have been forgotten have been put aside, and the truth has just fallen through the Dojo gates. - Xover with Inuyasha.
1. Seperated Shadows

**The Vanished  
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Chapter One - Separated Shadows

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Bare feet pounded down the empty street late at night. The sky, clear of the moon, spread its starlight over the darkness, the puddles catching in their shallow water the souls of the stars and reflecting them back up at the dusty heavens. They were still, like glass, until the pale feet cut through their tranquillity like a strong wind through a weeping willow, shattering their inertia and scattering them into the murmuring night, putting out their light only to have it return again as the disturbed puddles settled and stilled. In the distance laughter was heard, deep and full of promises that were either to be filled that night, or broken and passed onto another; muffled by the walls of buildings, by a pale, slender hand, by the smooth folds of cloth that whispered and rustled to the tatami mat. Closer, panting surged through the air, the flapping of clothing being caught in the shift of the air snapping and beating like small thunder, a heartbeat loud, deafening to its owner's ears.

On uneven ground something caught - a toe, a heel - and stumbling, the balance was lost, and the fear that filled the air became stronger with desperation as the hard-packed earth was parted by a knee, a body, digging fingers that scrabbled and scratched furrows through its form. The heartbeat increased. A fever of panic rose through the night, through the body, and he left the wounded ground, surging back up onto his feet to close the distance between his body and the part of his soul that had continued running. Dark eyes darted through the shadows filling the cracks and gaps in the street, digging within their cloaks for haven, though knowing that any sanctuary to be found in this darkened, narrow street would be deceitful, and an illusion to offer him hollow comfort. But still he searched, aware that it was futile, for the one place that could safely keep him concealed, the one place where he could perhaps find the protection to dare sleep. He hadn't slept in so long...

His racing feet carried him further through nameless unlit streets, the shadows and stars watching his anxious plight with emotionless eyes and secretive bodies. Watched as he stumbled many more times, as his feet began to loose their surety, began to waver in their placement, as he slipped and fell and took much longer to rise than any of the times before. Though, despite their tiring, his feet continued to bear his weight through the city, slowing each pace, but stubbornly refusing to still. They bore him further past quiet and shrouded buildings, up into a small clearing of the clutter of wooden structures, to where a single, simple bridge spanned the width of a small river. The dark eyes, clouded with pain, briefly cleared when the first glimpse of the crossing was caught, but instantly darkened again as he bypassed the bridge and was driven forwards into the river. It was cold, but the water would keep his secrets, and not bare them as obviously and shamelessly as the wood of the bridge would have were he to have crossed it.

Red water dragons spun crazily in the dark waters, playing unseen before vanishing entirely.

The water dripping from his hair and clothes made no difference to the damp earth beneath his feet as he struggled from the river and forced his feet to take upon his weight again. The cold sunk into his flesh, set him alight with shivers and tremors, and he walked now, more than ran. Almost broken in spirit, the chilling darkness of the river stealing nearly all that was left of it, he had begun to relax his fingers on his hope when his aimlessly wandering eyes found through the enclosing gloom a pair of large closed doors. The fingers, so close to letting go, grasped hold of their possession once more with a grip as strong as the water had been cold. Staggering, stumbling, wavering on his feet, he neared the doors, reached out with a weakly trembling hand still scattered with the seeds of the river, and laid it palm flat against the grain. He pushed, hopefully, a part of him that thought doing so was foolish praying that they would be unlocked, that the courtyard beyond would welcome him into its separated shadows.

As if the doors themselves had heard his plea, they swung open quietly, no louder than a whisper upon their hinges. Hardly daring to breathe for fear that they may still yet wail he slipped through the small opening his single push had created, then with a sigh the release of many things, pushed them even more quietly closed. Abruptly slumping against their solid support, he felt the pull to give into his weariness, but a shift of something unnatural, and the glimpse of that something from the corner of his eye pushed it back into his mind. He spun to face the unnatural thing that had moved, that had startled him, that had caused him to drop back against the doors and fold his aching joints into defensive positions that felt just too frail to hold.

The unnatural stood before him, with hair close to the colour of the water dragons that had been pulled from his wound, and eyes that glowed a familiar amber, a far too memorable bronze, and a sword at his hip that slammed fear and pain into him simultaneously without having to be unsheathed. It was threatening, and heart aching. And not the unnatural at all...

Only a memory that played in his eyes.

But the fear still held him. The pain from where he was torn was still scratching at his insides. The cold from the river was still stealing of his spirit, sapping him of his will. The dark eyes clouding once more, his defensive pose shattered, and his legs that had finally given out beneath his body allowed it to slip down the closed doors that had allowed him to enter. The dragons that had nowhere to go smeared his secrets on the wood.

Wood liked to tell secrets.

The fear slowly began to fade. The resignation to the night and the gold eyes came at a price that he willingly paid. The separated shadows welcomed him into the blackness that clothed him with the sleep he so desired...

And he was finally allowed to dream.

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A/N: This is a crossover with Inuyasha, just so you know. Multiple pairings... Saitou/Inuyasha, Kenshin/Sanosuke, Battousai/Sanosuke, Sesshoumaru/Inuyasha. I've listed it here in RK because there needs to be more written here. My heart is breaking for this fandom... It's scary.


	2. Paper and Wood Whispers

**Chapter Two – Paper and Wood Whispers**

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Golden eyes that barely concealed insanity slowly melted back to concerned amethyst, as Himura Kenshin looked with confusion upon the body of the young man lying in a heap at the base of the Dojo gates. He'd been awoken merely minutes before by an approaching fighting spirit, something so unlike any others he had felt in his lifetime, that before he could even gauge what time of the night it was he was pushed back and to the side of his consciousness, the Hitokiri Battousai that resided within him as his darker half commanding control of his body. Things weren't right with the presence, and the Battousai had known, had taken his body from his room, had waited for the spirit to make its appearance, and had faded away in perplexity when it had revealed itself to be a half-unconscious young man who had collapsed soundlessly mere moments later.

With quiet shuffling steps, Kenshin approached the crumpled body slowly, his pale amethyst eyes darkened by the moonless night watching carefully for any signs of movement from the boy. The scent of blood on the air and the colour of it smeared across the wooden gates was testimony that he was wounded, but due to his red clothing it was difficult to tell whether it was mortally or not. The concern in Kenshin's eyes deepened more as he drew nearer and knelt down beside the young man, noticing that his breathing was erratic, and shallow.

The boy had fallen onto his side, and had half-rolled onto his front, a curled arm beneath him all that stopped him from lying face down in the dirt. From his kneeling vantage point, Kenshin could see that the red material of his lower back was darker than the rest, and reaching out with his fingertips could feel the wetness of the cloth. Slightly disturbed by the feeling that was too familiar, he pulled his hand back, but stopped the movement when the tips of his fingers caught and brushed against a tear in the fabric. Returning his fingers back to the cloth, he probed the tear carefully, and frowned deeply when it became apparent that the wound had been caused by a gunshot.

Kneeling back on his heels, his amethyst eyes more worried now, he turned his glance to the boy's features. Covered entirely by the dark fall of his hair, Kenshin reached out to push it carefully back and was instantly confused when it curled wetly around his fingers. Now that he concentrated, he could smell the river on him, and though Kenshin did not like to make assumptions, a few possible scenarios were beginning to manifest themselves in his mind.

Guns were used primarily by the government forces, and though there were a few circulating around the public - illegally purchased, of course - most were being used by the westernized police forces. That this boy had been shot, and had evidently gone through the river, or down it, pointed to two things. One, he was wanted by the police for a committing a crime of some sort, and had been shot while fleeing their custody; or two, there was foul play involved, and he had been shot and thrown into the river. Both scenarios seemed quite likely, but Kenshin was not going to put money on either. These things never turned out how one would expect them to…

A sudden commotion out in the street drew his attention, as hurried footsteps and angrily hushed voices pooled a small while away. Though muffled by the distance and the wood of the Dojo gates, Kenshin could still hear the hissing of swords being drawn, and could faintly smell the gunpowder from a small number of guns.

"The blood ends here." The quiet voice of a mature man said. "He must've gone into the river, for there's no trace of it on the bridge."

"Do you suppose he could have drowned?" Another hushed voice asked. Despite sounding quite fierce, the men were keeping their voices low, though Kenshin was beginning to doubt that it was out of courtesy.

There was a sharp bark of laughter, then the harsh voice of another. "A youkai cannot die so easily!" The man growled. "He's changed his appearance to that of a human's. No… he's not dead. He'll be hiding here, somewhere, pretending to be a human and thinking that he can get away from us."

Kenshin's eyes narrowed at the use of the word 'Demon', and flicked down to look at the unconscious boy at his feet.

"Are you sure?" Another voice asked. "You shot him over four hours ago. He's been running, and bleeding a lot. He'd be close to death if he was alive. How do you know he didn't fall into the river and drown?"

"He just wants us to think that he's drowned. He could bleed dry and not die." The voice of the first man argued. "I'll go check the other side of the river to see if he crossed or not. Naota, you check further upstream."

"Hai." The voice of what sounded like an adolescent boy replied. The thud of footsteps across the bridge sounded moments later, and Kenshin once again looked down at the bleeding boy at his feet.

So they thought him a demon, did they? That angered him… that they would even think to kill someone because of a superstition. He knew people who looked more like a demon than this boy at the base of the Dojo gates… yet not once had the thought crossed his mind that he should murder them just because their appearance was unnatural. If that were so then the Wolf of Mibu would be dead a thousand times over, for his yellow eyes were most certainly unusual, and Kenshin found them to be greatly disturbing. Then there was his own red hair…

"You others check this side of the river." The man who had laughed said. "The youkai is a tricky bastard that uses cowardly tricks and illusions to deceive you. He could just be playing with us, and is still on this side of the river somewhere. Find him. He must be dead before sunrise."

Kenshin's eyes narrowed even further, until he was pretty much scowling at the closed gates of the Dojo. The men were whispering because they didn't want anyone to know of their plot to murder an innocent boy. Indeed, things never turned out how one would expect them to.

Cautiously making no loud noises to attract the men on this side of the river, he made to carefully pick up the boy, slipping one of his arms under his knees and the other up high around his back. Trying not to aggravate his bullet wound, he gently lifted him from the ground, and then flinched suddenly when something dug uncomfortably into his stomach and something else banged sharply against his knee. Looking down, he was a little startled to see the scarred hilt of a sword poking up between them, but with the weight of the unconscious boy growing heavier in his arms, he realized that right now was not a good moment, and that if he was to keep this boy safe he had to get him inside now. He could feel the Battousai in the rear of his mind, watching through his eyes as he began to carry the boy into the Dojo, but other than that Kenshin could sense no threatening intent from his other self. The Battousai was merely observing.

He carried the boy through the Dojo almost as quietly as the Battousai had left, failing to awake any of the sleeping inhabitants as he eased into his room and slid the screen door closed with his foot with the faintest whisper of wood and paper. Taking the boy over to the futon that he rarely used, he knelt down beside it and carefully eased him down onto it, making sure to remove his battered sword and arrange his limbs so that he wouldn't roll over onto his back. In the gloom of the inside he could see that the boy was still seeping blood, and he reached out to locate his oil lamp, lighting it to provide the illumination that he was going to need very soon. He removed his sakabatou and leaned it against the wall above the futon. Quickly leaving the room, he returned barely two minutes later with a bowl of cool boiled water cradled in the crook of one arm, bandages, cloths, and a small knife.

Once again sliding the door closed behind him with little more than a whisper, he set the bowl, bandages and cloths down beside the futon, placing the knife carefully on top, then reached around for the lamp to bring it down closer to him. Kenshin took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he'd had to do this sort of thing himself, and he was worried for the boy if he made a mistake. He swore he would never take another life again, and now that he'd taken the boys survival onto himself, he couldn't fail else he would break that oath. If it wouldn't have been so dangerous he would have awoken Yahiko and sent him to enquire upon Megumi's assistance, but as it stood, with the men knowing that their 'prey' had been injured, and coming across a boy running for the aid of a doctor, it would instantly draw their unwanted attention towards the Dojo. No, he had to do this himself. The risk was too great, otherwise.

Moving around to the other side of the boy, he began to remove his clothes. Kenshin was actually quite surprised about how old the style was that he was wearing. The sort of yukata that he was having some small difficulty in untying was something that could only be found nowadays on actors in stage performances. Finally getting the small knot untied, he un-tucked the jacket and slipped it half off, finding the shirt beneath far easier to remove. Rolling the boy over onto his front, he pulled free the sleeves from his other arm, and his bloodied back was now laid bare. Kenshin inhaled deeply, and then released the air in a slow, measured breath. Grasping a hold of the boy's long, black hair, he pulled it up away from his back, and then set to work cleaning the seeping wound. He knew the lead bullet was still lodged inside as there was only an entry wound. He also knew that he had to get it out. He'd seen far too many men die not from the injury itself, for that had begun to heal quite well, but from the poisoning of the blood that had set in but a few days later, for the bullet that had lodged in them had not been removed.

He dunked his hands in the water and scrubbed at his fingers and nails thoroughly – they had to be clean, he knew that much. Taking yet another deep breath, and long, slow exhale, he wiped away the small stream of blood that still oozed from the circular, pulpy wound, and braced two of his fingers to either side, opening it. Barely a moment later, intense concentration burning in his eyes, he pushed one of his slender fingers inside. Instantly the body beneath him shuddered, a muffled, pained cry emerging from it. Kenshin made a soft comforting noise, stilling his finger, and the boy's body relaxed. He hoped he'd passed back into unconsciousness.

Trying hard not to think about the soft things that his finger was pushing against, he set about locating the small, lead ball that hid inside amongst the soft tissue, moving the tip of his finger around until he'd located the hard, slimy object lodged in the right side of the bullets path. Flicking it with the tip of his finger, he tried to dislodge it. His finger slipped against it the first time, but on the second he was more successful. The bullet came free, and as he rolled it up out of the boy's wound and into the grasp of his thumb and forefinger, a gush of ruby blood followed it. Quickly pressing a folded cloth to the wound, he counted down the minutes until ten had passed and he dared to raise the almost completely red-stained cloth to check the blood flow. He breathed a sigh of relief and felt some of his tension ease as he saw the flow had returned back to its moderately light seeping. The wound hadn't been too deep, which he was grateful for, but it had been unattended for hours, and a lot of blood had been lost over that time. Even now, with the bleeding under control and slowly easing, Kenshin wasn't sure he'd make it. It was disturbing to consider… He didn't even know this boy's name.

Five minutes later he cleaned the wound again, pleased that the flow had lessened even more. Lifting the boy's body slightly, he propped his chest up with the head-rest of his futon, wiped away the small stream of blood that action had caused to flow, and began to bandage the wound. He used one of the clean cloths as a cushion for the wound, wrapping the bandage firmly around the boy's waist and tying the knot on one of his sides. He removed the headrest, then eased the boy back down carefully. He watched the bandage for any signs of spreading blood, but the red never appeared through the white cloth. The boy's breathing was still shallow, but was slightly less erratic than it had been. Kenshin now felt it safe enough to begin cleaning up.

Before he left the room again, Kenshin went to the cupboard at one end of his room and pulled out one of the heavier blankets. The boy had lost a lot of blood, and was sure to be cold. Thirsty too, when he awoke. If he awoke. Kenshin made a mental note to bring in a jug of water and a cup as he drew the blanket up over the boy's shoulders.

He moved through the silent Dojo perhaps even quieter than he had before, the bloody water sloshing against the sides of the bowl the only sounds he made. He deposited the stained cloths inside the laundry bucket on the porch, then grabbing up a scrubbing brush, walked slowly over to the dojo gates and used the water from the bowl to clean off the smears of blood from the wood. When they were as clean as he could make them that night, he poured the water over the ground in the place where the boy had lain, then scuffed his sandal over the dirt, disturbing it, and then patted it down flat. He couldn't see very well in the moonless darkness, but he hoped that he had covered it all.

He was starting back towards the porch, intent on going to fill up the laundry bucket, when he felt another fighting spirit approaching. He halted, instantly vigilant, but relaxed barely a moment later when the fighting spirit flickered in a warning that was familiar. A few minutes later Sagara Sanosuke pushed open the gates of the Dojo and was welcomed by the sight of the red-headed rurouni doing laundry.

"Ohayo, Sano." Kenshin greeted quietly, raising his head and smiling at the tall young man.

"Ohayo, Kenshin." Sanosuke replied, closing the gates behind him and sauntering over to the other man's side. "Isn't it a little early to be doing laundry?" He enquired.

"Iie." The crouching man shook his head. "I find that now is a good time, that I do."

Sanosuke crouched down beside him and sighed. "He came to you, didn't he?" He asked.

Kenshin turned to look at him, surprised. "Oro?"

Sanosuke rolled his eyes and sat back on his haunches. "The guy with the weird chi that woke me up. He's here, isn't he? How bad's he hurt? The guys chasing him were more heavily armed than the whole Juppongatana."

Kenshin nodded and continued to scrub at the cloths. "Hai, he is here." He really shouldn't have been surprised that Sanosuke had picked up on the strangeness of the boy's fighting spirit, and had been awoken by it. After all, Sano had been fighting for most of his life. He scrubbed harder at the cloths. He had to get all of the blood out. "His wound is not too bad, that it is not. But he has lost large amounts of blood. The men said that he had been running for almost five hours, that they did."

"They came by here?" Sanosuke asked. At Kenshin's nod he swore.

"They walked right past, that they did." Kenshin said, trying to lighten Sanosuke's mood.

Sanosuke growled. "Doesn't matter." He said. "They'll probably come around later this morning, sometime, when the trail's easier to follow." He turned to fix his dark cinnamon eyes on Kenshin, and they looked at each other through the gloom. "Can you believe some of 'em actually tried to stop me, thinkin' that I was their 'youkai'."

"What did you do?" Kenshin asked, a little worried about Sanosuke now.

Sanosuke shrugged. "The usual."

Kenshin sighed and continued scrubbing. "Aa. How hard did you hit them?"

"Just enough to knock 'em out. They're idiots, and murderers, and I should have done more, but killing's just not my thing. Let the cops take care of 'em later, they're not gonna be goin' anywhere for most of the mornin'."

Kenshin felt a small smile pushing at his lips, and wringing out the last of the water from the now clean cloths, he gave to Sanosuke the job of emptying out the laundry bucket while he hung them out on the poles to dry.

"There was a lot of blood in that bucket, Kenshin." Sanosuke said when he returned. "And he'd been running for nearly five hours?"

Kenshin nodded as they walked towards the door leading into the Dojo. "Yes, that's what one of them said."

"He's lucky he's still alive." Sanosuke murmured, following Kenshin to his room. Upon sliding open the door they found another person waiting inside of the room. He turned his head as the whisper of the paper and wood breathed quietly, and the lamplight set aglow his features. Dark eyes fixed themselves steadily upon the amethyst of the rurouni's, as with a strong, but quiet voice asked curiously;

"What's going on, Kenshin?"


End file.
